So Steve had come back to go prospecting, like an ordinary greed-driven
man, and only I knew he was one of the scant dozen great constructive
geniuses who had made possible man's conquest of space.
He was an engineer, a physicist and--a man in need of a partner. So
I'd just stepped up and introduced myself. Tom Gierson, who knew every
square foot of Mars. For my purpose one Earth name was as good as
another, and Tom Gierson had a sturdy ring.
Hard-bitten Tom Gierson, bronzed by the harsh Martian sunlight, as much
at home in the desert as the sturdy little spiked plants that thrust
their way up through the parched soil when the spring begins to break.
Steve's finest achievement was years in the past, but he was a young
man still, with a young man's need of a woman as great as himself to
share every moment of his waking life. That woman was waiting for him,
but I had to be sure that he'd really go berserk if I smashed the glass.